Off The Record
by Albrecht Starkarm
Summary: A comic disaster develops into an unexpected union. Warning: contains graphic depictions of gorgeous lesbians writhing, stroking, kissing, kneading... Where was I?


"So, anyway, I was thinking- hey, are you listening?" My attention snaps from the churning surf, whipped into a ferocious, confused froth by the buffeting turbulence of the droning rotors, to my companion, seated opposite me. With the door heaved open, the savage roar of the helicopter obliterates virtually everything, though he manages to raise the reedy pitch of his speech above even that.

"Huh?" I blink, my gaze refocusing as I drift again into reality. It's not that I'm dazed or disoriented- it's that I've pored over the mission reports on thirty or forty occasions, diligently memorizing every nuance of the operation. I can't conceive of anything that he'd present that would be remotely substantive.

"You weren't listening!" He seems mildly petulant, upset that I wasn't unerringly focused upon his babble. His pallid, freckled features and downy, cornsilk hair are a staggering contrast against the sleek, stark black of the cabin.

"Sorry. I had a long night, Ron." Indeed, I did- assessing avenues of approach and familiarizing myself with the local geography while he slew the zombie hordes.

"Anyway," he plucks Rufus from his pocket, pink flesh immediately dampened by the periodic swells of spray that occasionally spatter into the cabin as we streak at ocean-level towards the target. "Like I was saying, whaddaya think about my new idea?"

"You mean, the one you were pitching-"

"Exactly!" Oh, god, not that one. It's more nauseating than I can even begin to describe. "Beef, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, and more cheese! The Queso-Supremo!" It is; I resist the urge to retch at the vivid illustration that I can recall from the previous evening, detailing, in minute detail that I wish he would reserve for an effort at contributing to our assignment, the tortilla drenched with whatever nightmare substance the Bueno Nacho can legally classify as a cheese-food product.

"That's... Not really what I had in mind when I asked you to come with me, Ron. This one is sort of important." Sort of? It's an intervention against one of Drakken's more... Dare I say it, rational projects. A scalar weapons system, capable of generating devastatingly powerful electromagnetic waves, endowed with sufficient force to level cities- or destroy a country's electrical infrastructure if released in a pulse. Admittedly, I'm anticipating the moment at which we'll witness the mushroom cloud of his bungled project welling above the horizon, but this one is disturbingly marketable. We've heard rumors of interest from Al-Qaeda, Israel, Russia, China, and even the NRA.

"Hey, don't worry, KP! The-" oh, god, "Ron-man's on the case! We'll be in, out, and totally off to pitch my Queso-Supremo by five!" He nearly pitches from his seat into the unforgiving embrace of the ocean as he delivers a few flaccid blows to a thoroughly unimpressed portion of the surrounding air, with a vaguely disinterested crewman latching upon his jumpsuit at the final moment.

"Do you think the," I sigh with a certain irresistible derision, "Ron-man can remain in his seat until we land?"

"Hey, that was just a little accident. You okay, buddy?" He glances at Rufus, presently hyperventilating with the realization of that his well-being is presently tethered to a boy unable to arrest his own plunge into the Pacific.

"Gurgle... Chirp... Idiot..." For a moment, I'm absolutely certain that Rufus has spoken, though there are no further suggestions of speech from the endearingly candid rodent.

"Hey, anyway, like I was sayin', whaddaya think about the Queso-Supremo?" He's desperately expectant, grinning at me with a certain vapid longing.

"Well, it's..." I grope for words capable of articulating the sheer depth of my revulsion; I restrain my exuberance to proclaim my abhorrence of the Queso-Supremo, instead opting for a few coddling platitudes. "It's definitely..." His eyes glisten, his attention raptly fixated upon my every word. "Uh, unique. Definitely, definitely unique." It's suitably ambiguous, and he instantly interprets that selection of words in the most intensely positive manner possible.

"I knew you'd agree! I mean, honestly, what does everyone love in a tortilla? Meat, right? Lotsa meat! And- and, what else?" He gazes encouragingly at me.

"And lots of cheese." I offer dully; I chance a glance at the olive-drab-clad crewman beside him, the grizzled loadmaster favoring me with a roll of his dark eyes.

"Exactly! So, you think it'll make me another few mil? Really, what do you think?"

"Oh, totally." I reply disinterestedly, my attention drifting towards ragged escarpment rising to our starboard, beginning to wholly dominate the horizon. It's a typical site for a madman, though this one is a bit more ominously positioned near to civilization- it's a tiny island off of Sakhalin, apparently leased or purchased from some lax member of the Russian government. It's fortunate that it's the height of summer, though there's nonetheless a mild, leeching chill that permeates even the streamlined black suit that clings fiercely to every contour.

"So, anyway, I was-" any further contemplation is devoured by a sudden, radiant azure flare that surges above the horizon; it's a blossoming, amorphous flower, eerily molten, a shimmering corona of emerald seething along its peak. Damn it.

"Radiation spike! EM radiation spike! It's the scalar weapon!" The pilot's agitated shout crackles through the headset radio perched carelessly upon one ear, the other exposed to Ron's cheese fetishery.

"Oh, great." I manage an ironic deadpan before the helicopter climbs abruptly, forcing me into the dubious cushioning of the seat; it's not longer a discreet infiltration.

"W-what is that, KP?" Ron's attention is riveted upon the bulging, whorling petals that are progressively unfurling from the core.

"That's the scalar weapon. Weren't you listening?" Much to my infinite dismay, we're continuing towards it.

"Oh, right. Sure. Scalar weapon." A pause. "What does that do again?"

"It-" any further comment is devoured by an inexplicable, deafening silence that sets upon us; I realize that it's the product of a collective consent from the crew, Ron, myself, and the helicopter's engine. The engine?

"You two get ready to bail out, okay?" I'm jarred into reality again by the loadmaster's strained shout, thunderous in the abrupt onset of quiet; I realize that we've begun to list and pitch, the continued momentum of the rotors forcing an unnerving, groaning pivot of the airframe that intensifies and accelerates with every instant. I can perceive the quiet rustle of the wind, the crash and rumble of the waves, and a sudden, churning displacement in my stomach as we enter free-fall; I'm certain that I notice the mocking quail of a seabird.

"Oh, god, we're gonna die." Ron seems curiously casual about that, suddenly perched at the edge of the UH-60's companionway, one pale hand ashen as it maintains its ferocious death-grip upon the handle; I realize that I've risen as well upon instinct alone, the anxious, tortured sweat upon my brow cooled further by the savage gusts tearing through the cabin.

"We're gonna try to stay airborne for as long as we can. We gotta good pilot from SOAR, so you two just get out now, okay?" The loadmaster's tone barely wavers, though I notice that he's eagerly eying the exit; it won't be a pleasant departure, but it's preferable to being consumed by the collapsing hull of a helicopter.

"Please and thank you." I intone, and I'm out at the apex of the helicopter's swaying pivot, Ron directly behind me; I realize, with a certain unpleasant epiphany, that we traveled inland incredibly quickly, no longer above the inviting embrace of the rolling, verdant plain. It's a fortress. Naturally. We soar towards a turret, and I toggle the emergency parachute within my rucksack, a jolting displacement of air and crackling canvas signaling its deployment; I'm relieved to notice a trio of chutes streaming behind the stricken airframe of the Blackhawk, plunging beneath the horizon. It's probably merely a distance of a few hundred feet to the towering, rather overcompensating peak of the tower, but I manage to steer awkwardly away from it, descending with an unnerving deftness toward the jaggedly-defined steel canyon engulfed by the heights of Drakken's defense systems, presently silent and utterly helpless. Obviously, he disabled his own intrusion countermeasures with that premature... Detonation.

I tumble into a fluid roll as my feet graze across the ruggedly-paved tarmac, releasing the collapsing canopy of my parachute and easing away from Ron's infinitely more ungainly impact, ricocheting between several structures with a litany of curses that wouldn't seem appropriate for a children's television program before rising with a triumphant gasp from the deflating folds of his parachute.

"That- that has got to be the best parachute landing I've ever had." He chokes out. It's an unfortunate truth.

"Come on, Ron. They'll get away." I've no doubt that it's 'they'- Drakken and Shego, a curious parallel for Ron and me. Well, Ron doesn't appear hypoxic... Unless he's struggling with a burrito lodged in his trachea, and that only happened twice.

"Y-yeah, okay. Um, you mind if I just have a heart attack first, though?" He's panting, braced against a prominently bifurcated metallic panel that glistens solemnly beneath the gentle trickle of mid-day light seeping into the bowels of the installation.

"Sure, Ron. Just let me get my defibrillator." I deliver a gentle swat to his arm, and take hold of his hand. "Come on."

"Aw, geeze, just gimme a-" his sentence is interrupted by a plaintive squeak as the panels wheeze open with a sudden rush of air, his golden locks prominently contrasting with the mellow crimson of the elevator shaft. A churning welter of rippling emerald suddenly overwhelms that, and my eyes lock with a stern black gaze.

"Oh, great. You two. You come out here to throw us a housewarming party?" The source of the ominous aura speaks, her tone alight with a certain snide menace. "You know what Doctor D did?"

"Shego, you are my subordinate, and you shouldn't be revealing-" A rather haughty whine is interrupted by a sudden, luminous streak that darts past features that resemble the offspring of a blueberry and Viktor Frankenstein's monster. With a ponytail.

"Can it, Doctor D." Shego snaps. "This dufus said, 'I know very well which is the 'test-fire' key! I built the blasted thing, after all!'" A disdainful snort. "So, which was the 'test-fire' key, Doctor D? The huge red button? Was it that one?"

"Yes, Shego." An astonishingly petulant groan.

"So, you two gonna let us get outta here before the Russians start wondering what happened?" Shego grins at me with a vicious congeniality.

"Oh, sure. Then, I thought we might have a tea party, maybe with a few of your friends. In prison." I snap. Ron has finally risen to his feet, gliding away from the elevator, exchanging a rather concerned glance with Drakken.

"Hey, that sounds great, cupcake. But, you know, we gotta jet." A pause. "Well, figuratively, anyway. The explosion sorta blew out the escape jet's electronics." She sighs dismally. "This has got to be the dumbest one yet. Really. You know, we had buyers, we had a map of Newfoundland. We even had Danny Williams on board! But... No, no, you just had to press the red button! The one that you built!" She growls. "What bomb has a self-cleaning option, even if you built the damn thing?" I, admittedly, feel a bit neglected, with Drakken being the focused target of her vitriol.

"It's not a bomb, Shego. It's a Tesla Scalar Weapon, and I'll have you know that lots- lots of doomsday implements have- have self-cleaning... Options." Drakken huffs irritably. "You just don't know the market like I do!"

"Um, you two?" I interrupt their exchange. "Are we gonna, well... You know, fight it out and drag you two off the jail, or would you two like to continue your lovers' quarrel?"

"Just get her, Shego!" Drakken simpers. "And- and that other one! The boy whose name I can never remember! Roger, Donald... Remy?"

"It's Ron! Ron! Three letters! How hard can that be to-" That indignant squeal is interrupted by a scalding stream of plasma that streaks beside him; his reflexes are fairly impressive, however, Ron planting his face in a fit of terror into the concrete within probably a millisecond.

"Come on, Princess. Let's do it." Her attention has returned to me, lancing forward with a swift, acrobatic series of blows; it's a bit predictable, and I elude them with a few standard feints, though I can perceive the molten heat that sheathes her arms, her slashing claws extended with a rather committed ferocity. Her eyes are focused, narrowed with a tremendous intensity; I can feel the rage radiating from her, the irritation and sheer mortification of being employed by such a colossal dunce.

"Shego, if you were any slower I'd need to stop and do my taxes." I retort, pivoting away; I realize that a sudden surge of chill has begun to course across my abdomen, and it occurs to me that her claws may have approached a bit further than I'd realized, my flesh bared along a number of savage tears within the fabric.

"Hah. Undressing for me, Cupcake?" There's a needling quality that annoys me in her tone, and I can't resist the urge to jab at her, delivering a swift series of strikes that she narrowly eludes, driving her further towards the darkness of the elevator car.

"Um, Shego?" Drakken interrupts, standing beside Ron with a certain bemusement as we clash; I notice that Ron bears a similar expression. "Can we, you know, get out of here before the Russians arrive?"

"Can it!" Shego silences him, retaliating with a litany of attacks that glide disconcertingly through the shoulder and waist of the combat suit. "Let's go, Pumpkin!" She snarls at me, and I'm forced to roll away from her; I realize, with a certain belated recognition, that a steel cable is now grinding against the length of my spine.

"Shego, just-" My exhortation for her surrender is completely ignored as she streaks forth again, hand outstretched; I barely ease away from the attack, preparing to flee the narrow confines of the elevator until a whisper of, 'Oh, shit,' and the ominous twang of snapping steel resound through the car. "Oh, shit." I echo, confronting a vaguely guilty smile from Ron as he and Drakken vanish from view, a nightmare reversal of a comfortable gravity rendering me doubly delighted that I hadn't sampled the Queso-Supremo. That pleasant awareness of my descent is, with rather startling swiftness, devoured by a sudden, mute oblivion.

"Hey, Pumpkin, wanna get the hell off'a me?" I blink away the disorientation, a familiar voice barely seeping through the resonant, cochlea- shattering tinnitus that threatens to inspire a shrieking fit of lunacy.

"H-huh?" I gurgle. I'm quite convinced that I've been blinded, absolute darkness enveloping me.

"Get your fat ass off me, Kimmie. You know, the one that's on top of me? Crushing my stomach? That one?" The voice orders, and I'm upon the verge of bursting into a Hallelujah Chorus as my blindness is miraculously remedied by... A shimmering, emerald aura? Oh, great.

"S-sure." I mutter, realizing that every word spoken resounds in duplicate, triplicate, and possibly quadruplicate. I muster the whole of my strength, levering myself from atop her with a considerable effort, and collapsing onto my rear- not by any means fat, gelatinous, or less-than-flawless, I may add- upon the frigid floor beneath me.

"So, you just had to-"

"Had to what?" I snap, regaining an amply-deserved aggravation. "Was I the one that brilliantly decided to snap off the elevator cable? Where the hell are we, Shego?"

"I'd say about forty feet, at the maximum, beneath the surface. When I cut the cable, the emergency brake triggered, though the doors closed. And I have the sense that the emergency power's finally out of commission. Dumbass Drakken..." She growls irritably, flexing her fingers, the sleek lengths of her claws prominently visible amidst the dull gleam of her plasmic field. "So, I think we're gonna be here for awhile."

"Huh." I draw my knees against my chest, unleashing a sigh that's as resigned as it is frustrated. "So..."

"No small-talk, Princess. Shut up, and stay on your side." She snaps; she's curled against the wall probably fifty centimeters from me; there's no discernible demarcation.

"My side? What side is that, Shego?" I grit out, petulantly extending my hand nearer to her. "Am I invading your territory? Am I past my side? Really, you're gonna need to explain this one, 'cause-" she interrupts my provocation with a squealing shriek of her claws against the steel floor, fashioning a prominent, gently-smoldering seam.

"This is the border, Kimmie." She sighs, shaking her head with a palpable aggravation. "Of all the people I'd be trapped in an elevator with, it would have to be you."

"Because it's always been my fantasy to be bound in a seven-by-seven compartment with my mortal nemesis." I snap, and immediately clasp my palm upon my forehead with a miserable groan. A shattering, brain-dissolving migraine, apparently formerly homeless, has selected that moment to assume residence within my skull. "Oh, god..."

"What is it, Kimmie? Little headache? Yeah, that tends to happen when you slam your brains against the wall." She chortles. "You know, I thought that you were a little smarter than-"

"Shut up, will you? God." I growl, instantly regretting it. A lengthy pause. "Um, Shego?"

"Didn't you just tell me to shut up?"

"You don't have any aspirin, do you?" I whisper; it resonates with a hellish intensity throughout the otherwise still confines of the cabin.

"Excuse me?" She leans toward me; I notice that she freely traverses the border without any concern for international sanctions.

"Y-you heard me." I've been drunk once, pilfering my father's single-malt reserve while he and mom were away for a romantic weekend, and this is what the aftermath resembled.

"No, I didn't. It's so quiet, what with me needing to shut up, so, if you said something," she deliberately, sadistically raises her voice, "I'm sure that I would've heard it."

"Damn it all, do you have any aspirin? Anything?" I realize that one of her blows must have sheared off my pack- naturally, it's not within the elevator.

"Oh. No. Sorry, Princess." She delivers a grin alight with a truly palpable glee. "Just a flask, and that's it."

"Huh?" I begin to massage my temples, unleashing a lowing stream of anguished whimpers.

"God, what the hell's wrong with you?" She leans toward me, whispering irritably.

"It hurts, okay? Really, really badly." I hiss; I can feel a molten warmth upon my hand, and I realize that I've probably injured myself.

"God, I'm gonna regret this, but... Lie back, 'kay, Kimmie?" Shego eases toward me further; I grit my teeth, and prepare to defend myself, though, in my present state, I'm probably as ferocious as a geriatric turtle.

"G-go 'way." I whimper.

"Don't be such a damn baby. I'm not the sort to finish off a downed foe- I'll beat you when you're at full strength, so you can never claim that I took advantage of some weakness." She shakes her head. "You may have a concussion."

"What, you're nurse Shego, now?" I nevertheless acquiesce. She's too terribly prideful to dispatch me when I'm this unwell; I've no doubt of that.

"Forgive me for losing my bedside manner somewhere down in Argentina." She quips, and grasps my chin; her grip is powerful, but astonishingly warm, the moderated plasma field unleashing a wondrously soothing heat. "Keep your eyes open, and look ahead."

"Sure." I comply; my vision seems mildly unfocused, though that's probably the product of the swimming darkness and the vague, shimmering fringe of light radiating from Shego's hand.

"Hmm..." She gazes inquisitively into each eye, before easing away slightly. "You don't have a concussion, I think."

"Mmm..." I realize that I'm leaning into that heat instinctively; the slashes in my clothing, combined with the dismal, dank chill of the compartment, are positively awful.

"You hear me, Cupcake?" She demands, and I snap to attention again.

"Y-yeah."

"So, you're just peachy. Well, 'cept for your headache, anyway." She draws away, and I can barely stifle a groan of frustration at the evaporation of her warmth.

"Yeah." I nod, immediately regretting even that slight motion; the plasma's caress was soothing, however.

"So, we're probably gonna be here until your friends- or the Russians, I guess- dig us out." Shego shrugs. "Unless you can manage some grand escape."

"How?" I glance upwards, despite my cringing agony. "That's a sheer shaft." That remark elicits a brief chuckle. "What?"

"Sheer shaft, sheer shaft... Ah, never mind. I'm probably just tired." I return my gaze to her, confronting a weary shake of her head. With a quiet sigh, she extricates the slim contours of a flask from the taut folds of her bodysuit, the intertwining, helical pattern of ebony and emerald flowing hypnotically across the rather generous contours of her physique. A rueful smile accompanies the muted rattle of its cap; she raises it to her lips, swallowing a brief belt. "Dead tired. No sleep for a month tired. And, for absolutely nothing, 'cause Doctor D's too damn stupid to label anything. You didn't even need to foil it this time."

"I can relate." I realize that a demented half-grin is tugging at my lips.

"Duh. Doctor D's a jackass, but that little boyfriend'a yours is something else, Kimmie." She snorts; I can't precisely muster the effort to defend Ron's honor at the moment. "I mean, don't get me wrong- it's not like he usually goes out of his way to screw up your efforts, or waste hundreds of hours of labor." Another pull at the flask. "Dishonest labor, I know, but it's still work."

"M-may I have some?" I inquire. Admittedly, I didn't precisely react well to the Scotch from my parents' cabinet, and I haven't the slightest inkling of what it contains, but it's the sole anesthetic within reach.

"What? This? Do you know what it is?"

"I- I don't care." I whimper.

"Sure." She eases nearer to me again; I'm again enveloped by that sublime warmth. It's doubtlessly a matter of rendering our captivity more tolerable by diminishing the otherwise insufferable hostility that defines our relationship, but I'm nonetheless astonished by Shego's uncharacteristic congeniality.

"So, what is it?" I choke out as she lifts the curiously lengthy, slim flask to my arid lips.

"Hm? Oh, vodka and Midori." Naturally; it seems as if she's compulsively, habitually surrounded by that distinctive coloration at every instant, though the addition of vodka certainly renders that liqueur a bit harsher. I prepare myself for a lancing severity, though I'm confronted with merely a curiously cool, mildly bitter flavor of melon, subtly putrid with the fermentation. "You like it?"

"No." I groan, before swallowing another stream of it that courses into my yearning mouth.

"Sure, Cupcake. That's why you're bogarting it, huh?" A mocking chuckle, though she doesn't yet withdraw it.

"It... It feels good, too, though." I finally release the flask with a dismal sigh. I haven't dined for several hours, so the effect is virtually immediate; my alcohol tolerance is hardly spectacular, either, though I'm by no means hopelessly intoxicated from such a tiny portion of it.

"Well, you are Irish, aren't you?" She needles. "I should've prepared a fifth of whiskey, shouldn't I?" She affects a dismal Irish inflection, and I begin to roll my eyes, halting as a horrid burst of pain spears my brain.

"S-shut up." I grit out. "So, what, you're Japanese, then?"

"Do I look Japanese?" She snickers. "No, I'm not Japanese, Kimmie."

"Chinese?"

"Maybe." Another muted laugh. "What, you have a thing for Asian girls?"

"Hah." I can't resist a lopsided smile, however. "You know, you're not a total asshole when you're not trying to cut me apart with those claws."

"Likewise, when you're not bitching about justice and trying to throw me in prison. Did you know that it's co-ed," I'm not certain if that's precisely the correct term where penal institutions are concerned, "At that glorified lunatic asylum? Not at I'm bothered, precisely, but there was that nightmare concert from Junior, that stupid aspiring boy-band castrato." I'm a bit impressed by her proper use of 'castrato'.

"Shego, do you mind if I ask you something?" A lengthy silence has arisen, comfortable and vaguely amicable; the liquor has begun to ameliorate my headache, though she's monopolized the bulk of it thus far.

"Will you still ask if I answer, 'yes'?" A wry reply.

"Probably."

"Sure." She seems genuinely curious; it's not a response of resignation. I realize that her warmth has intensified slightly; she's slouched a bit nearer to me, canted against the elevator wall to position the flask between us.

"Do you like your job?" It probably seems outlandishly vacuous, but I've never precisely enjoyed the opportunity to engage in a rational conversation with a ferocious adversary.

"What, Princess, are you thinking about going over the wall?" She chortles; I seize the flask from her yielding grasp, swallowing another flow of the alcohol that's become increasingly agreeable, inspiring a glorious, flushing swell of heat across my skin.

"No, not really." I must admit, somewhat guiltily, that it has occurred to me that my talents would be more lucrative, and perhaps more applauded, if applied to less-than-legal enterprise.

"Well, it's not like there're precisely super-villain benefit packages. Drakken has an HMO, but I'd rather be repaired by some whiskey-drenched street stitcher than one of their providers." I file away that peculiar insight into the American Health Management system in a mental compartment reserved for bizarre arcana and odd trivia. "The pay's fantastic, though- it seems as if super-villains are the fastest-growing sector of the economy." A snicker.

"I meant, do you like fighting me constantly? Theft, battle, constant conflict?" Somehow, that snide reply irritates me a bit; perhaps it's simply the molten torrent of liquor coursing through my veins, but I feel as I'm deserved a degree of candor.

"Not constantly. Off the record, of course." Shego inhales a deep, lengthy tide of the liquor from her flask. "Off the record, do you?"

"I hate it. It's a pain- and it's miserable." I acknowledge with a somber smile. "You're- you're really difficult to overcome. You're pretty amazing, actually." I admit. "What- what's that plasma of yours, anyway?"

"A regulated, bioelectric plasma field, in suspension around me. I can attenuate it to barely warm, or to bore through steel." A remarkably succinct and scientific response. "Hey, I was wondering about something."

"Yeah?" I claim the flask from her again, draining an increasingly generous sum from it with each swallow.

"God, you are Irish, aren't you?" She sniggers. "Is that dumb kid you pal around with your boyfriend? I always sort of wondered why you have him in tow, when he's about as useless as Drakken."

I haven't any reply; I'm briefly mute, pondering that point, as well. I've never truly sought to ponder that, and I've never explored my emotions toward him- if any- in depth. In all sincerity, it's been infinitely more convenient to wholly ignore the issue, along with whatever complexities and challenges that may entail.

"Uh, Princess, you awake?"

"I'm thinking." I snap, a bit irritated by her derailment of my present train of thought. "I... He's not my boyfriend. We're friends; we have been for years, and he's constantly been there for me." It's infinitely more complex than that, though I haven't the slightest inkling of for what reason I'm obliged to plumb the depths of my psyche to satisfy her curiosity.

"Oh."

"Why?" I retort, though it's a puerile and rather idiotic query.

"Just curious. I mean, he's-"

"He's my friend." I retaliate, realizing that I'm becoming increasingly impatient. "He's my friend, and-"

"And he's dead weight. Don't interrupt me." She's a bit aggravated, as well; perhaps alcohol wasn't the most outstanding approach to reinforcing our newfound congeniality.

"That's not true. He's-"

"He's useless. Just my opinion, of course, but I think that any guy who's with you should at least try to tie his damn shoes and not trip over his two left feet." Shego needles, and I realize that my grip is tensing further upon the slick surface of the flask. "I mean, has he ever helped you with-"

"Why do you care? Isn't that helpful, to have only one skilled opponent, who's always preoccupied with her worthless companion?" I start at what I've said, though it's basically true; I don't encourage Ron to join me for his legendary combat prowess.

"I just think that you deserve better. Off the record, of course." I realize that the heat radiating from Shego is intensifying, rolling in throbbing, seething waves from her body.

"Oh, really? What, like you?" I can't suppress a derisive laugh. "You want to be my partner, then?"

"I'd be a helluva lot better than him, if that's what you mean." There's a slight tinge of something more than the standard, teasing or belittling tone in her voice. I tilt my head towards her, my eyes locking with her own; they're focused, severe, blazing.

"Oh?" I prod. "Really? Is that why you're always taunting me, torturing me? You really, secretly want to be my sidekick, Shego? Is that why you have so many terms of endearment?" I smirk. "Off the record, of course?" I parrot that phrase with a mocking sneer; I can't resist it. There's no sardonic retort, however.

"I could definitely do better." She finally answers, gravely. Her eyes seem uncharacteristically wide, vulnerable; deep, emerald, intense.

"R-really?" I'm not certain if we're discussing martial merit any longer.

"Yeah." I realize how near she is to me, how ferociously her heat palpitates through me; I've begun to notice minute details- the anxious flicker of her tongue across her lips, the swift rise and fall of her chest. "You want me to show you?"

"H-huh?" She's apparently not that interested in my answer, simply clearing the tiny distance separating us, the full, pliant, damp warmth of her lips closing upon mine. I am, for the moment, wholly speechless; my eyes are unable to close, simply dimly observing her while she kisses me. It's a gentle, probing softness that I've never experienced, unequivocally feminine, completely distinct from the few, cumbersome embraces from the boys of my age. She finally parts.

"See?" A vaguely unfocused smile; I suddenly am overcome by a rush of concentrated fury, realizing that she was merely taunting me, tormenting me as she does so constantly. It wasn't a kiss- it was another jab, another attack.

"S-see what?" I grit out miserably. "Fuck you, Shego."

"Huh?" It's her opportunity to be perplexed.

"Fuck you... That, that was just cruel." I can feel the tiny, piercing points of tears at the fringe of my eyes; it's not as if this is some dramatic rejection, but it's nonetheless appalling, though I'm a bit confused as to for what reason. Shouldn't I be angry with her for kissing me?

"What was, Kim?" I start at that; I've never heard my name from her. "You- you didn't like that?"

"Your teasing me? No, I didn't." It's vaguely true; I didn't like being teased, in any event.

"Teasing you? Um, I meant the kiss." A slight flicker of her characteristic humor. "I mean, I think I'm better than your little boy-toy... A better kisser." Her tongue, a curious pink contrast with the raven black of her lips, snakes out again. "What, you thought I was just pulling your leg with a kiss? No." I realize that my heart has begun to throb, and that my flesh seems ablaze with an unbearable heat. "Although, if you really hated it that much..." It's obvious that she's backpedaling; she must feel as vulnerable as I do, which is rather a remarkable departure from our ordinary dynamic.

"No." I whisper. "I... Will you, again? Please." I'm startled by my words, absolutely incredulous at what's emerging from my lips, though a persistent, niggling voice- liberated by the alcohol libidinously sloshing through my mind- seems compelled to emphasize that I shouldn't be that astounded.

"Kiss you?" Shego appears as awestruck as I feel.

"Yeah." I nod, managing a hoarse gasp. She doesn't reply, her lips upon mine again the sole answer that I could possibly require or desire. It's glorious, the sudden, unrestrained melding of our bodies; I realize that her arms, lengthy, slender, and powerful, are encircling me, her hands clasping upon my back, tugging me wholly against her. The kiss deepens, ever more sublimely; I can perceive the distinct, acid tang of the alcohol and the saccharine essence of the melon upon her lips, but there's a greater, more prominent and more tantalizing flavor underpinning that, along with a mild, singularly feminine scent that courses from her. I can't bear to part from her; I realize that her tongue is tenderly brushing against my lips, and I comply immediately, unconsciously, parting them. I feel as if I'm flowing with a visceral, primal rhythm, little trace of conscious thought lingering within my mind beyond a certain dazed recognition of how completely astounding this is.

Her tongue clashes and twines with mine, a fluid and graceful caress that stokes a warmth that I've rarely felt, beyond guilty, fleeting strokes in the dark evening, my mind wandering to an image of forbidden beauty. My attention snaps back to the present in an instant, however, as her hands become more forceful; one has drifted to my cheek, the swollen heat seeping from her positively scalding, though nevertheless extraordinary in the midst of her embrace. We finally separate, though for merely the briefest of moments, gasping an intense, desperate litany of breaths before we're intertwined again. I'm entranced, overwhelmed, feeling every trace of reservation bleed from me as the kiss deepens, heightens; she's become more forceful, aggressive, though I can hardly complain. I realize that my hands are gliding of their own volition across her shoulders, her waist; I've never felt this, never been taken so firmly, with such demanding need. I've never experienced this yearning.

"That... Wow." I blink, straining for breath as we separate again.

"Off the record," she grins with a wanton delight, "I've been wanting to do that for awhile."

"R-really?" That should probably have been facetious, but it's little more than a tiny squeak; I'm truly, sincerely elated by that.

"Yeah." My hands are presently perched upon her hips, my fingers periodically, with rather absent-minded lassitude, brushing across the full swell of her rear. It elicits a gentle shiver, her eyes darkening with an unambiguous force of emotion and longing.

"I... I have, too." It's not as if there's any shame in admitting that; not any longer. A good Catholic girl, fixated upon her mortal nemesis... Her gorgeous, psychotic female foe.

"So, you know why I'm so aggressive with you, don't you?" Shego delivers a vaguely insecure smile; it's rather a remarkable rarity.

"I..." I haven't precisely the capacity for coherent thought.

"I love it- the visceral intensity of our battle, the clashing of bodies... To feel your heat against me, to see you panting, sweating. Especially that cheerleader outfit." She grins suggestively. "I love looking up your skirt."

"Heh." I can't believe the flush erupting into my cheeks, the tremors shivering through my body. "I... Don't really need to imagine anything with your bodysuit." It's somewhat of a lame reply, but it inspires a delighted smile.

"But, you still did, didn't you?" I yelp as her hands fall to mine, dragging them fully upon the generous curve of her rear; I gasp, as does she, my fingertips digging into the sleek material of her suit. It's slick, vaguely plasticine; perhaps latex or PVC.

"Yeah." I finally conjure the courage to kiss her of my own accord; she doesn't resist, though she hardly seems to have expected such forthrightness from me. I'm genuinely clumsy, though there's no complaint as I awkwardly struggle to emulate the graceful eroticism of her kiss. Her reaction is a bit unexpected, however, shifting her mass and pivoting; I realize rather abruptly that I'm sprawled beneath her upon the floor, continuing to cling to her abundant contours. I gaze dreamily upwards into her eyes; she lies between my parted legs, a rather comfortably domineering gesture, though there's no sense of urgency, none of the groping, cumbersome severity that I'd somehow visualized.

"A-are you?..." It's an agonizingly awkward question. However cryptic it is, I understand immediately. Am I a virgin?

"I am." I whisper with a gentle nod, noticing an immediate, conflicted swell of relief and anxiety; she's my first, without question, a tremendous delight and challenge.

"Are you sure?" If I'm willing to continue? She's certainly presumptuous; though, with the continual, palpitating need coursing through me, the constant, straining heat boiling inside of me, I don't believe that I could bear to halt at merely a kiss, regardless of how incredible.

"I... I am." I swallow harshly, realizing that I've basically declared an absolutely irrevocable decision, given how spectacularly the palpable hunger in her gaze has intensified.

"I'm so glad. I- I think that I would've lost it if..." She declines to elaborate, simply lowering her lips to mine in a fierce, almost crushing kiss; it's not totally bereft of that glorious tenderness, though there's a greater urgency, a more demanding heat. I adore it, beginning to arch into her embrace, relishing the pulsating warmth that boils from her. It seems as if the plasma has risen in its severity, boiling from her fingers as she supports herself upon one arm and her legs, her other hand gliding across my shoulders, finally trailing toward the supreme, aching sensitivity of my breast.

I can't resist a desperate, yearning gasp, a sense of utter rapture at that caress; it's no longer a fantasy, no longer a brief, teasing kiss or a cruel, tormenting caress. Her eyes are focused wholly upon my own, never wavering, virtually unblinking; a low, whimpering moan tears itself from my lips as her fingertips fasten upon my nipple, instinctively seeking out that throbbing peak despite the insulation of the tautly-clinging suit.

"P-please..." I keen, rather unnecessarily; her gaze certainly affirms that she's no intention of halting.

"Believe me, I won't stop." Such a glorious promise, manifest in her whispered words. "I won't stop, Kimmie." A radiant smile blossoms across her full lips as she adjusts herself slightly, her hand enveloping my breast with such a sublime heat; it's a genuinely reverential caress, engulfing the peak of the full, supple hemisphere. I can feel my pulse quicken further; I've the sense that my heart will simply burst from the shuddering intensity of it, every nerve seething with a coruscating hypersensitivity, every inch of my skin aflame with an almost insufferable heat. My stomach blazes, flutters with an emotion made almost a tangible presence; I've never experienced this, never imagined it, that simple, patient stroke unleashing such a soaring delight.

"C-call me Kim, all right?" It's a quiet, tentative plea; beneath her, enveloped by her smoldering heat, devoured by her gaze and engulfed by her touch, I'm overcome with an aching shyness. I adored how her voice caressed my name when I finally heard it, totally divested of that teasing or scornful tone; I yearn for it again. I neurotically hope that I'm not disappointing her, semi-catatonically, selfishly savoring her touch, her presence, unable to conjure the slightest shred of strength to pleasure her.

"I will, Kim." Her smile broadens, if at all possible; it's definitely comforting that she's not disappointed.

"Do... Uh, I mean, is your name really Shego?" It's a stupid query, and I'm terrified that I've offended her even as the words escape my mouth, but I adore this intimacy, wish for it to become all the more intense.

"It's the name I want to hear from you." She silences any further discussion with another kiss, a gentle pinch of my nipple; there's a mild surge of pain, resolving instantly into a staggering torrent of delight that cascades through my brain, her mouth absorbing the keening whimper that it tears from my lips.

"Oh! God, Shego..." Her lips ease away from mine, trailing along my jawline; I've merely a vague sight of the lustrous, shimmering splendor of her raven locks, alight in the glimmer of her unique energy. My pants quicken, unable to resist my desperate writhing as she touches me, strokes me, inflames my desire all the further; her mouth fastens upon my throat, my collarbone, her teeth briefly, teasingly nipping at the curve of my clavicle. "H-hey!"

"Don't worry, Kim... As delicious as your skin is, I definitely want to eat something else." I may be a virgin, but I'm not dead to anything that suggestive, feeling my folds simply melt at that, utterly, excruciatingly drenched.

"Oh, god..." I realize that I'm suddenly hoarse, my hands upon her back curling into quivering fists.

"You really are a virgin, aren't you, Princess?" It's a suitably teasing quip, though there's an underlying tenderness that I absolutely relish, feeling that heat swelling all the more fiercely in my chest.

"Y-yeah... I told you." I gasp, my hands limply shifting further along her spine as she eases across me, her lips brushing a lengthy, torturous litany of kisses across my breast, deliberately, sadistically avoiding my nipples. "Please!" I can barely conjure the energy to speak, but I can't resist that plea.

"Touch you where, Kim?" Her fingers are as skillful and deft as her lips; it's obvious that she's not a virgin, though I can't very well conjure the resolve to be envious or possessive of a woman that was my mortal adversary until a few minutes ago, regardless of how I've fantasized about her. I haven't any reply; that excruciating shyness has returned with a brutal vengeance, and I can barely even imagine how I'd articulate the screaming, primal need boiling through my brain. "Oh... You'd just like me to... Feel my way through it?" A quiet, muffled laugh, and she glides lower still. "I like this suit... The US Army definitely knows how to flatter a girl's figure. It's sexy." Another pinch at my nipples; I finally muster the wherewithal to crane my neck, virtually collapsing with a listless, breathless joy at what I witness. Shego peers up at me, admiring me, while her fingers dart across my skin with a regular, alluring rhythm; her tongue, slim and pink, now flutters at one of the swaths of flesh exposed by her previous ferocity. That caress shivers through me, and I unleash another resounding cry, totally unconcerned about whatever audience may be lurking four storeys above us.

"Please!" I can't bear it any longer, a certain iron intensity hardening in my muscles, my hands reacting immediately to signals that evidently didn't bother with my brain's approval; my fingers tangle in her rich, silken tresses, easing her insistently further.

"Wow, Kim... You seem to know what you want for a sweet little virgin." She definitely doesn't seem eager to complain, however, her fingers instantly seeking out the minute seam separating the upper half of the form-fitting suit from its lower counterpart, her aura seeming to expand to envelop me completely as she begins to lift away the fabric from my skin. The heat is extraordinary, lapping at me in coherent waves, obliterating the chill of the elevator compartment entirely; I contort myself to allow her to raise the shirt further, before claiming the hem from her grasp, peeling it away in one desperate, wriggling motion. I realize, with no uncertain timidity, that my chest is totally exposed; Army combat suits don't precisely provide an accommodation for the modesty of a bra. I resist the compulsion to clasp my arms across my suddenly bared breasts, instead simply supporting myself upon my palms, canted slightly in a sinuous curve.

"I..." Am I beautiful? Am I appalling? Is it a disappointment, following the flirtation, the teasing, the anticipation?

"You're gorgeous." A magnificent, miraculous confirmation, my insecurity faltering a bit. "You're incredible." Her hands rise irresistibly to my chest, reverently cupping the full weight of my breasts. "They're... Wow." It's a rather demented, lecherous grin that confronts me; she certainly seems quite delighted. "They're larger than I would've thought." I can't believe the torturous blush flaring into my face. Her fingers stroke and glide delightedly, almost entranced, across the pale flesh, finally fastening fully upon my nipples; I immediately stiffen, straining, feeling a lightning jolt of seething electricity arc through my nerves.

"Ah!" My scream swiftly dissolves into an incoherent moan of delight as she lightly tugs and rolls the twin buds with an expert skillfulness and celerity, stoking a boiling heat to unendurable heights within me. I can't believe that I'm already so near to that transcendent peak, though it's not the predictable, level slope of rather prosaic eroticism that accompanies one's own touch; it's totally unique, unruly, wild, jolting and shuddering to a pinnacle beyond anything that I could imagine. I don't even realize that I'm screaming until she silences me with a kiss, my entire body writhing beneath her ministrations, a sudden welter of sweat erupting across my skin.

"Wow... You... Did you? Really?" She seems a bit astonished.

"Y-yeah." My voice trembles and wavers, but I finally muster an intelligible response. "Oh, yes." I did; I need to again. And again. And again. "I came. I- I really, really did." I must seem almost idiotically exuberant about that, boasting of such a singular delight to the woman that inspired it, but I can't resist that compulsion.

"You know that's nothing compared to what I can make you feel, don't you, Pumpkin?" Is this her ploy? To kill me with an orgasm?

"W-what? Really?" I'm dazed, barely lucid. "Please!"

"Oh, yes, Kim. Now, just wait, and watch." She brushes another light, almost chaste- as if that would be possible at this point- kiss across my lips, before her eyes alight with a sensual mischief; her fingertips glide into the tense waistband of my trousers. "May I?"

I can only nod in reply, and lift my hips to aid her as she begins to tug, progressively bearing the ever-expanding, creamy swaths of flesh. A decidedly approving smile erupts upon her lips; I'm proud of my legs, sculpted, sleek, but nonetheless feminine and well-rounded, and she would seem to concur with that sentiment. I realize, quite suddenly, that there's an entirely unique heat radiating into that quivering, feminine core, not issuing from my blazing flesh; it's the kiss of her aura, now flowing into me, around me. "Oh, god... That's..."

"You're so incredible. And a natural redhead." I simply ignore the latter comment, my gauzy and delirious mind fixating upon that wondrous praise. "I want to touch you, Kim. I need you." Any levitous jocularity evaporates; there's only the earnest, tender, blazing longing in her voice that I crave, that I need.

"Please." I can't bear anything but that, though my heart, somehow, has managed to conjure the strength to beat with an even great intensity, the orgasmic height of my release receding in the face of a delicious fear and anxiety. I haven't the slightest inkling of what to expect, but I can't bear any further delay in tumbling headlong into it. "Touch me, Shego." Her eyes lock with mine, and my breath hitches in my chest as her fingers lightly ease along my thighs; it's a tender, gradual advance, not simply claiming that proffered innocence. I can feel the warmth, the emotion radiating from her; there's no need for words as she finally, at long last, arrives at that waiting, yearning heat.

"Shego!" Every trace of air billows from my lungs in a low, keening cry, her fingertips gliding across the silken, slick lips; she parts them slowly, lightly, obviously not eager to force or hurry me, though I'm upon the verge of simply screaming at her to continue. "You-"

"You're so beautiful, Kim." She swallows; even if she's not a virgin, I can feel the trepidation and delight coursing through her at this consummation. I wonder, vacantly, if she's been fantasizing about me for as long as I have her. "So beautiful." It's a magnificent refrain, though I can barely perceive anything but the probing intensity of her gaze, dark emerald from heavily-lidded eyes. I gasp as her fingers ease to that throbbing pearl, and arch violently, almost savagely, at the sudden surge of sensation; I've never been touched, never felt anything like this, beyond a few awkward gropes accompanying an inept kiss.

"Shego, I-" What can I even say? Any words dissolve into a further litany of whimpers as her thumb slowly circles me, her fingertips braced at my entrance; she drenches them with the dampness coursing from me in torrential flows, before finally, spectacularly, pressing one inside of me. "Oh, god! Yes!" It seems inane, but I can't resist the need to scream, to whimper, wail, squeal; every imaginable sound, strained and alight with a transcendent ecstasy, tears itself from my throat as she finally, finally, finally begins to touch me in earnest. It's a magnificent caress, gentle and devoid of the savagery of her claws, which she's retracted completely; I experience solely the delicate stroke of her finger along my clenching walls while her thumb expertly, dampened as well, strokes that singular peak. "Mmm..." I tense, spasming, my palms slapping flaccidly against the steel floor as it rises with such a sudden severity again, shredding through my mind and body with a lancing, towering rapture.

She doesn't halt, simply continuing while my vision swims and I ponder passing out; the sensation intensifies further, impossibly, as another finger joins the first, lightly parting inside of me, caressing my most intimate walls. "You're so incredible, Kim. So beautiful." I manage to force my gaze back to hers, though I can't resist the yearning to admire her touch; my thighs are parted, allowing her unfettered access, her hand contorted slightly beneath me, her fingers, slim and glistening with my essence, pumping into me. They part again at the apex of the thrust, twisting and stroking; I feel it flaring through me again, the constant, level glide of her thumb along my clitoris the final, piercing punctuation to the constant, throbbing poetry of delights.

"You're... You're making me feel... It's..." I babble, whining unintelligibly; I'm longing to explain that it's unbelievable, almost unbearable, beyond anything that I could have imagined on those furtive, guilty evenings, pleasuring myself while I fantasized about a phantom touch from an emerald goddess whose actual embrace is more incredible than I could have conceived.

"Just feel, Kim... Embrace it. I've longed for this for ages." She whispers, her fingers quickening; it's no longer so gentle, but I don't desire that. She seems to know precisely what I crave, what I need; there's a sublime nexus between us, allowing her to sense every yearning, every desire.

"Y-yes!" Again, that rapture washing across me. "Yes!" Another, so deftly thereafter, sending me into a convulsive eruption of screaming, quivering delight. It's almost unbearable; it's swiftly becoming insufferable, so near to that electric sensitivity that would halt those lengthy, almost interminable sessions, striving for that elusive satisfaction that one's touch can never provide. "It's- it's-"

"Again. Come for me again, Kim." She begs; it truly is a plea, a severe, impassioned whisper.

"Yes!" I comply. How can I resist? I struggle, writhe, and thrash, realizing that I'm probably near to simply shattering her fingers within me, though it's now positively unendurable in its intensity, the focus and prowess of her technique absolutely unbearable. "T-too much!" I finally growl, struggling to still myself.

There's no response, beyond the sudden surcease of her caress; however insufferable that seething ecstasy is, I can't resist a groan of regret at the abrupt halt in her fingers' glorious, fluid touch. I'm panting, drenched with perspiration that glistens beads upon my flesh, glistens upon my chest and thighs, melding with the fluids coursing from within me, churned so magnificently by her sublime strokes. My face is ablaze with an almost excruciating flush, an orgasmic tension continuing to cling devastatingly to every muscle, every nerve, every tendon. My eyes, glazed and swimming, barely register anything until I realize that she's lifting her fingers to her lips, gleefully easing each in turn between those plump curves, her slender digits vanishing into her mouth. She suckles delightedly, obscenely, avidly devouring every trace of me from her skin.

"Mmm... So sweet, Kim. It's ambrosia- I've never tasted anything quite like that." Those bone-dissolving words are accompanied by a similarly, obscenely tantalizing smile. "I wonder... Does it taste better directly?"

"Oh, god..." To hell with it being oversensitive, unbearably intense; I part my thighs further, planting my booted feet upon the steel floor. Her reaction is immediate, and truly elated.

"Mmm... Seems like someone's impatient. I didn't think that I'd be eating so well, trapped in an elevator..." Another silly quip, rendered so intolerably alluring by the deep, sensual purr in which it's spoken. She glides between my legs as I recline a bit further upon the floor, gazing into her deep, smoldering eyes as she draws nearer, with torturous, teasing deliberation, to that most achingly sensitive flesh.

"Please!" I virtually sob, mewling as her lips slowly, softly, trail over my thighs, every motion accentuated by a swift, staccato series of kisses.

"Don't worry, honey..." I'd never expected that term of endearment from her, but it's wondrous, nonetheless.

"God..." I adore it, adore her; a vapid smile forms upon my lips, transforming into a gaping wail as, suddenly, utterly without preamble, her mouth fastens upon me. There's not quite the gradual tenderness of her fingers, her tongue harshly, deftly flicking along my blazing flesh; it's a totally incomparable sensation. I could never have even hoped to imagine this; the mere image of her between my thighs, exploring, pleasuring, tasting, was simply abstract, more a product of the other cheerleaders' lewd innuendo about other girls than anything else. "Shego!" My hands fist in her lustrous, shimmering black hair; my hips buck, pressing her insistently, irresistibly against me, though there's hardly any hesitation or restraint on her part, either. Her fingers swiftly join her ministrations, delicately parting me, allowing her lips and tongue unrestrained access to every inch of skin, every trembling swath of pink flesh.

Her low, level murmurs ripple through me, and I suddenly stiffen, that sensation rising further and further until I simply burst again, rocking and writhing. She continues, and I absolutely adore her for that; one of her hands fastens upon my rear, rather admiringly, her fingertips digging lightly into my flesh, palm cupping the full contours.

"F-fuck..." I sob; I can't believe that I'm gasping that, unleashing a wanton, impassioned torrent of semi-coherent obscenities while I press against that sublime touch. I realize that I'm near to simply passing out as her tongue snakes, slowly, delicately, into that clenching channel. I scream, again, again, and again, molten, volcanic flares of that transcendent passion erupting within me, bursting through my mind, devouring my body and my soul.

"Kim?" I suddenly realize that she's looming atop me, a vague concern bleeding into her tousled countenance of utter rapture; it occurs to me that I haven't spoken for what feels an eternity, and I'm completely, limply still.

"Y-yeah?" I groan hoarsely, straining to speak a single word.

"I thought that you were unconscious. Or that you'd just lost it. I know that I'm amazing, but..." She kisses me with a certain palpable relief; I can finally taste myself upon her lips, and I realize that I stain her cheeks and chin. It is delectable, however narcissistic that thought is; I love it.

"You are. God. I... I really, really want to touch you." I would relish hedonistically savoring her touch for an eternity, but I feel a persistent, clamoring longing for her, to delight in the warmth of her skin beneath my caress.

"I..." For once, Shego's actually speechless; perhaps she simply wasn't prepared for her fragile virgin to be that forthright, or it's the fulfillment of an eternity of her deepest longings. I hope that it's actually true. "Will you?"

"Yes! Yes!" I whimper, nodding with a ferocity that inspires a brief fear that I'll simply snap my neck with my exuberance.

"I'm so glad." It's nearly a sob of relief; there's no distance separating us any longer. It's a complete, vulnerable exposure, and I realize that she feels virtually as fragile as I do.

"I've- I've been waiting for this for so long. I never thought that we'd... Well, be doing this here. I sort of had these fantasies about a romantic dinner, candlelight..." I babble as she rises slightly away from me, taking hold of a clasp at the collar of her suit.

"Disappointed?" There's not the harsh edge of her standard facetiousness; it seems dangerously near to actual, pained sincerity.

"No." I affirm with a giddy grin. "This... This is better than I could've thought." It is; there's no artificiality, no superficial traditions and saccharine devices. Nothing to conceal the raw, pounding lust, and the molten emotions cascading through me.

"I hope that my light is romantic enough." She graces me with an absolutely beatific smile, lowering what I realize to be a rather simple zipper along the center of her bodysuit. It's startlingly rudimentary, however well-concealed, and I somewhat marvel that I've never taken hold of it in the midst of a particularly ferocious exchange of blows.

"It's more than I could ever imagine." That's not an exaggeration. The material of her suit is so taut that there's no slackening of it, even as the zipper finally rattles quietly against its base at her waist; she begins to wriggle with a deliberate, graceful coordination, slightly hindered with that splendid anticipation and impatience, so wondrously evident. Finally she begins to shrug out of its clinging embrace, exposing an utterly singular physique. She's as shapely as I'd expected, if not more so, her rich ebony locks sweeping gracefully across the elegant contours of her shoulders, brushing along absolutely incredible, full, pert breasts, subtly upturned, her dark nipples deliciously erect. Her abdomen is finely-muscled, in delicate definition, but nonetheless feminine, with a suggestion of a glorious softness; the taper of her waist is accented by the flare of her hips, emphasizing a rear that constantly captured my attention. Her legs are shapely, fuller than mine, and incredibly powerful, muscularity in fine relief. The whole of her skin is endowed with a unique, pale emerald luster, accentuated by the gentle, shimmering aura that she exudes. She's perfect.

"You're... You're incredible." I whisper; she is. "You're so beautiful. You're a goddess." She is.

"Kim, you... You're so sweet." A mild darkening of her flesh suggests a completely uncharacteristic blush as she lowers herself to me again; I cry out as the creamy, silken softness of her skin, at long last, brushes against my own. "Ah..." She gasps, as I do, at that glorious contact; we're finally united, every obstacle stripped away, joined with flesh. I startle myself as I intensely as I do her as I draw her completely atop me again, fastening my arms around her waist, tugging her yearningly to me; I whimper, my body quaking as her nipples graze across mine, her breasts, ample and pendulous, pressing upon mine. I kiss her, desperately, longingly; she responds with equal intensity, our tongues twining, lips parted, as our embrace heightens impossibly in its sheer splendor.

"Make love to me. Please." I finally mewl as we part for a few crucial gasps of oxygen. The heat of her skin is beyond what her plasma could conceivably hope to conjure, a fine, shimmering veneer of perspiration glittering in diamond points upon her lovely, exotic flesh. "Please." I beg; I crave her, need her. I must be intertwined with her; I can't suffer a single further moment without it.

"Yes." Nothing more need be said. Her hands glide gingerly beneath my shoulders, and I feel her legs shift, our bodies finally, completely entangled; I'm suddenly stricken by a glorious epiphany of transcendent warmth, realizing what that boiling heat throbbing against me is. It's truly Shego, her pure, singular perfection, finally bared to me, as I am to her; our embrace is complete. She kisses me, once again, with an aching intensity, weighted with a truly palpable emotion; I realize that I'm trembling, this fruition of agonizing, seemingly insufferable desire more extraordinary, more singular, more poignant than I ever could have believed. It's absolute intimacy, not a single inch separating us.

She finally begins to move, rocking and swaying against me. I jolt, straining, almost instantly overcome by the sheer electric majesty of it. It's so unique again, so distinct from the stroke of her fingers, the tantalizing caress of her lips. It's of an impossible heat, so all-encircling in its splendor that I can barely believe that it's achievable in this life, with these limited senses; it's spiritual, agonizingly joyous; visceral, electrically rapturous. It's incredible. I kiss her, as she does me, in a swift, fluid, panting, gasping alternation; I realize that I've begun to move as well, pivoting and rolling against her body as she sways and glides. It's a transcendently elegant dance, intertwined with a soaring emotion, an adoration, that seems unbelievable.

I feel my hands gliding across her skin, savoring that sleek, sensual splendor; I explore her shoulders, the delicate contours of her spine, her waist, while we kiss, while we make love. There's no other description, a soaring union of two bodies and souls, even if merely for a blissful moment that unfurls and flows into a glorious eternity. Her hands emerge from beneath me, our legs entangled, our folds gliding together in a sublime, rhythmic thrall; they seek mine, and I surrender myself completely to her, as I know she is to me. I'm unable to speak, quiet, keening moans boiling from my throat amidst tortured, labored pants; my throat is raw from my cries of delight, from the ferocious, gasping intakes of breath. I can feel it soaring and ebbing, rising and falling, orgasmic wonderment eternally settling over my mind until it's stripped away by another surging tide of rapture.

We continue until I can no longer bear it; hours or seconds, an eternity of that all-eclipsing joy is compressed into a time that's simply meaningless to me. My fingers, interlaced with hers, tremble; my hands clamp upon her own, screaming with one final, climactic howl into her mouth as her kiss devours that wail of near transcendence; her eyes widen, as mine do, as a final, joint, utterly staggering release erupts between us, through us, scouring across my nerves, robbing me of every trace of strength that remains. I collapse, spent, empty, save for the radiant light of joy and sheer adoration for her that endures, further intensified by her touch, her warmth, her tenderness... Her love. Mine. There's no need for words, no affirmations that will not bind us as intensely as that shared kiss, that utterly singular embrace.

I can feel my heart throb all the more powerfully, even as the exertion halts; it's that molten ache that boils within my chest, yearning for release, for a voice that I simply cannot give it. Not at this moment, however I cry out within for that; I can see that reflected in her gaze, as well. We kiss, again, and again, even as my lips bruise and I feel as if I'll suffocate. I'm terrified that this moment, this eternity of delight compressed into a single trickle of the hourglass' sand, will suddenly, cruelly be interrupted. We hold one another for a further eternity, in silence, until she speaks.

"Kim?" It's a languid, husky whisper.

"Yes?" I croak out in reply.

"I... I don't want this to be the only time." A brief pause; I can sense that she doesn't wish for me to speak yet. "It wasn't just a... A one-time thing, some drunken tryst, fulfilling some odd desire that's been nagging at me since I saw you. I... I really, really want something from this. Even if we're on opposite sides. That won't always be the case." I can't believe the wrenching sorrow in her tone, though I can feel it tearing at my heart, as well.

"I know." I whisper. "I... I don't want that, either. I want to..." To do this again? Not merely the sex, the incredible, blazing intensity of our lovemaking, however spectacular that is. "I want to be with you." I do. "You... You do know how I feel about you, don't you? I mean, I've... I've had a crush on you since- well, since I saw you, on some level. And, and I... It's just been becoming stronger. Unbearable. This- this isn't only physical for me, either." Another pause. "And I wasn't drunk."

"I wasn't, either." A brief, rather enervated chuckle. "So, what, then?"

"I... Just, promise me that you won't do anything stupid until we can figure it out, all right? It's... It's not as if you don't capture me constantly, or that we don't subdue you." I draw a lengthy, almost theatrical, sighing breath. "You're certain that you...?"

"I can't just give up this life. Not so quickly- I do have obligations, and they wouldn't exactly make for a stellar beginning for us. Trust me." She offers me a solemn, contrite smile; I suppose that I have pondered for what reason, despite her vast accumulated wealth, she persists with this continual madness.

"But, I mean..." A rather guilty grin.

"Trust me- neither of us will be swearing a vow of celibacy until that day. I think that I'd lose it if I couldn't kiss you again." A mischievous quirk of her lips. "And, well, I think that I'm addicted to that ambrosia."

"Hah." I capture her lips in another lengthy, lingering kiss. "So, I've bewitched you?"

"Sorceress." She smirks.

"That's all right... You've totally entranced me, too. I... I really-"

"Not yet." She silences me with another kiss. "Just, not yet, all right? Please, be patient." I can't believe how near I am to tears at that, though I understand for what reason she must; the pain is soothed a bit by the dreadful woe in her own gaze, unwaveringly focused upon mine.

"All right. You do know, though, don't you?" I manage to choke out, straining to maintain my composure.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. You do, too, right?" I can only nod in reply.

"I'm so glad." She gasps; we both start as a persistent, level hammering resonates throughout the elevator shaft. "Damn. It seems like our vacation's about over, Kim."

"Y-yeah." I manage unsteadily; we regretfully part, both of us swiftly struggling into our clothing. I can't resist a final, lust-drenched and mournful admiration of her splendor, my eyes devouring her transcendent beauty. I'm elated that she does with me, as well. We're upon our feet as the low, grating squeal of some form of electrical saw begins to wail through the conduit, a harsh, glaring sputter of molten sparks erupting from above.

"Kim?" I turn to her; she graces me with a forlorn smile.

"Yes?"

"Take this. Please. It's... A promise. A guarantee for the future." I realize what she's extending to me; it's her flask.

"Aren't I a little young for this?" I manage lamely, though I nonetheless immediately, almost desperately, seize it in my grasp; any memento of her, of this passion, is irresistible.

"Heh. Consider it a claim ticket." Her lips quirk into a radiant grin. "When I come for you, you can give it back to me. That's a promise." Another kiss, seemingly an agonizingly final one as the howl of the saw soars to a a nightmare crescendo. "On the record."


End file.
